


Wildfire

by Graysworks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Dancing, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, PTSD mentions, Sharing a Bed, Sparring, Worldbuilding, a decent amount of plot, did I mention pining? because there's a fuck tonne of pining, exchange fic for positivity day!!!, gratuitous kissing, literally everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:06:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graysworks/pseuds/Graysworks
Summary: A vld positivity exchange fic for garrisonsheith/ragingviolins!!The team struggles to build an alliance with a lesser known resort planet, going toe-to-toe with two Queens, a demanding Council, and terrorists- all while Shiro and Keith attempt to keep up the ruse of being married."I mean, you could always just say you're already married. Take the masses off your necks while we bang out this contract," Pidge offers, ever the voice of reason, as she sits and examines her nails.Lance emerges from his dying giggles to heave a huge, breathless sigh. "There's just one -ha- problem there, Pidgeon. Who exactly would they be married to? Each other?"The suggestion is a joke, laden with sarcasm and yet-Hunk and Pidge exchange a glance.





	Wildfire

**Author's Note:**

> so this was supposed to be one (1) sparring scene, and it
> 
> spiraled
> 
> so fast
> 
> I'm so sorry

"M... marriage?" Shiro repeats, feet frozen where he stands.  
  
"Earthlings have that particular custom, do they not?" His dance partner -Rozzok? Rozzoh?- offers an amused smile, explaining, "On Jerekov, it is quite a useful arrangement; even more so with the current state of the nation. Surely you've observed that by now."  
  
"Oh- of course," Shiro murmurs quickly.  
  
He understands. He just wonders how he's supposed to get out of this one without blowing a hole in their potential alliance.  
  
"It would all be a formality, obviously," Rozzoh continues, drawing Shiro closer so that they can keep following the music echoing through the great hall. "I can't exactly traipse around the universe with your team, taking on the greatest threats to the known world at your side." His tattooed cheek twitches as his lips quirk up. "However romantic that would be."  
  
Shiro is still attempting to overcome his speechlessness, so he continues moving to the beat with the Jerekov, answering simply, "Ah."  
  
And then, "I guess... you're not the only one with their eyes on me?"  
  
Rozzoh scoffs, but it seems in good nature. "An understatement. As the head of Voltron, the _Champion_ as they call you-" Shiro nearly winces at the abhorrent title. "-You are quite desirable. I suppose I've been the only one to take initiative so far."  
  
"I see," Shiro mutters, glancing around them as if he'll be approached by a dozen others at any second. It's almost like attending another Garrison ball, waiting for the flocks of cadets, who'd show up mostly for food and a chance to ogle. He couldn't exactly say those nights were enjoyable.  
  
"Then you understand the situation," Rozzoh presses, his light-burst orange eyes intent on Shiro's.  
  
He does, unfortunately, and struggles to compose an eloquent rejection- though it turns out he doesn't need one, with the arrival of matching shouts and a smattering of footsteps.  
  
" _Finally,_ " Lance groans, slumping against the column to his right with a prominent frown twisting his mouth. "We've been trying to get away from those kids for an _hour!_ What, is there no daycare on this planet?"  
  
"Shiro, please tell me we're almost done here," Pidge adds wearily, tugging at the collar of her dress, looking ridiculously uncomfortable. Shiro understands, with how he was forced like the rest of them into the traditional Jerekov attire before the gathering. "Hunk's already cried twice at the food."  
  
The chef in question wanders next to Lance and mimics his groan, burying his face in his hands. "It's tragic, Shiro. Just _tragic_. I don't even want to talk about it."  
  
Shiro begins to answer that yes, this is the most opportune time to make their exit, but Rozzoh beats him to in, saying, "I'm afraid we need another minute, Paladins. Your leader and I were discussing a rather important issue."  
  
"Oh, maybe we can help!" Pidge jumps at the change in topic, eager to pitch in even after the stress of the night.  
  
It's endearing, and Shiro is grateful for all of three seconds before Rozzoh smiles and shakes his head, explaining, "It's more of a personal matter- er, at least, engagement is, on Jerekov."  
  
"Oh," Pidge says, shrugging half-heartedly in the moment that it takes to process the words, and then her head snaps back up. " _Wait_ -"  
  
"Engagement?" Hunk frowns.  
  
" _Engagement?_ " Lance repeats, eyes like saucers, "As in, getting _married_ , engagement? Because that's almost what it sounded like to me-"  
  
"Yes. Engagement." The prince places a hand on his hip while Shiro remains frozen again, regretting the decision to not stay behind in the palace with Coran just a little more.  
  
Okay maybe- a _lot_ more.  
  
"You can't marry Shiro!" Hunk exclaims, jaw dropping after the fact, while Lance- of course. Lance is hiding laughter in his hands, Pidge stepping on his foot to keep him quiet.  
  
"Why, pray tell?"  
  
"B-" Hunk starts to stammer. "Because- uh- because-"  
  
The excuse flounders and fails, while Rozzoh waits expectantly. Shiro swallows down his fluster and places a hand on both Pidge and Hunk's shoulders, turning to steer them away from the Jerekovian. "I am- flattered by the proposal. I need time to think about it."  
  
"Please do," Rozzoh bows, and smiles, and that's the end of that.  
  
Or maybe just the beginning, Shiro amends, as they make a hasty exit.  
  
It's a fight not to sprint from the room.  
  
  
  
  
The four run into Allura on their way out, who hands Shiro her glass to pat a free hand over her hair, now littered with tiny, knotted braids. "I must say, the children here are rather.... _fascinated_ by Altean features. Perhaps it was the color."  
  
Lance slides up to her with a smirk. "You know who _else_ is-"  
  
" _Lance_ ," Pidge whacks him upside the head. "Can we focus here? Shiro's in trouble."  
  
"Trouble?" Allura echoes, deftly untangling another plait. "What sort of trouble? Has Hunk dragged you into the food debate as well, because we really don't need-"  
  
"It's nothing," He insists, apologetic even as Pidge sighs heavily and Hunk mutters something frustrated about debates and private chefs. "Let's just get out of here."  
  
Keith, luckily, makes an appearance with a heavy smack of footsteps, muttering, "Sorry, sorry- got caught up."  
  
Lance scoffs and eyes his disheveled appearance as they start toward the exit again. "In _who?"_  
  
Shiro opens his mouth to admonish again, because now's not the time for lewd insinuations-  
  
"N-nobody," Keith responds, flushing and wearing his _I'm-trying-to-lie-and-failing-spectacularly_ face, which Shiro frowns at before it hits him like a sack of bricks. "Nobody!" He says again, as four sets of wide eyes turn on him. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"  
  
"Wait," Lance gapes. "You actually _were-?"_  
  
"No!" Keith shoots back, at the same time Shiro does, offended by the assumption but unsure _why_. Keith spares him a glance before reaffirming, "No, I was just- talking, there was-" He breaks off as a tall, willowy Jerekovian approaches the group at a light sprint, calling his name. She skids to a halt in front of him, momentarily breathless.  
  
They all watch, mystified, as she pushes hair over her shoulder and holds up a small red flower, not unlike the ones decorating the sides of the hall, or hanging in abundance along the balcony rails. "It fell while you were walking away, so I thought- you might-" Keith reddens when she tucks it behind his ear, and the entire team gawks when she presses a chaste kiss to his mouth.  
  
She smiles and turns, and leaves them all frozen where they stand.

The glass Shiro is holding shatters in his hand.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Are you kidding? You want us to _'just marry them'?"_  
  
Lance dissolves into more laughter behind his hands as the coach glides along the road, wheels smooth as hovertech but completely traditional. Keith scowls at him from the opposite seat, next to Shiro.  
  
"It's not funny," Shiro berates, fingers twitching to shake Lance by the shoulders. "And we didn't come here to get married- we came here to make an _alliance._ "  
  
Hunk snorts and shrugs, suggesting, "Hey, it would only be temporary. And it doesn't have to be you anyway- why not Keith? Technically he's the black Paladin too, so-"  
  
"No way," Shiro banishes the idea before he can complete it, something anxious and dread-ridden shooting through his head like a spike of pain. The thought of getting married to a stranger is one thing- marrying _Keith_ off to one is entirely another.  
  
Keith, suspiciously, remains silent beside him.  
  
"I mean, you could always just say you're already married. Take the masses off your necks while we bang out this contract," Pidge offers, ever the voice of reason, as she sits and examines her nails.  
  
Lance emerges from his dying giggles to heave a huge, breathless sigh. "There's just one -ha- problem there, Pidgeon. Who exactly would they be married to? Each _other?"_  
  
The suggestion is a joke, laden with sarcasm and yet-  
  
Hunk and Pidge exchange a glance.  
  
"No way," Shiro repeats, a new kind of anxiety churning in his gut. "I won't do that. _Keith_ won't do that."  
  
"I'll do it."  
  
Four pairs of eyes turn on the quiet source. Keith slumps further in his seat, jacket wrinkling under his crossed arms as he shrugs. "If we have to, I'll do it. Why not, right?"  
  
The silence lasts only another minute.  
  
"No," Shiro repeats, finding his voice. "We shouldn't have to do this for an _alliance-"_  
  
"Because?" Keith shoots back. Shiro frowns firmly when he sits up. "It will only be temporary."  
  
Shiro mirrors the position and persists, voice less controlled, "You really want to fake this for three weeks- maybe a _month?"_  
  
"No, but I can see how it will make our lives easier in the meantime, so what's the problem?" He presses.  
  
Shiro turns further toward him. "The problem is roping my best friend into a marriage he doesn't want, just so I can get out of one myself-"  
  
"Oh so you're the burden here, even though I keep telling y-"  
  
"Cut it _out!"_ Pidge reaches over and flicks both of their ears, earning matching protests and mumbles. "You guys are being ridiculous. I did some research on it beforehand, and the last conference is in three Fridays- that means we'll be here a while and with the civil war fallout, the Eastern and Western kingdoms will be sending suitors for _both_ of you. They want the upper hand if it all goes to crap again, so anyone with a black Paladin on their side is pretty much _guaranteed_ aide; and that's what this is all about, so if you have a better idea, then _I'd sure love to hear it!"_  
  
Silent seconds tick by, punctuated by the unbroken gait of the creatures drawing their carriage.  
  
Shiro and Keith exchange a look.  
  
Lance heaves a loud sigh and tips his head back against the seat. "Man, you guys are _screwed."_  
  
  
  
  
Shiro motions Keith away as soon as they return to the palace. He's tense, the lines of his shoulders stiff beneath the formal suit, walking ahead of Keith without so much as a hand to his arm.  
  
They pause at the grand steps winding up the vast lobby, draped with huge curtains hanging from the rails, one for each of the three sub-nations.  
  
"You really want to do this?" Shiro asks him. He turns, with one foot on the first slab of marble, as the rest of the team continue on and laugh at something Hunk said.  
  
Keith stares back, mouth dry and hand twitching where it rests on the rail. Shiro's is inches away, and he _thought_ he'd wanted this -thought it could be a good thing, maybe- but he backtracks at the intense look being cast at him. Shiro's brows are low, frown twisting his mouth while he's only got eyes for Keith and it's- a lot.  
  
He swallows and taps his fingers against the marble, trying for a grin. "Will you hate me if I say 'I do'?"  
  
_"Keith."_  
  
It's enough to dry out his throat again. Shiro is still watching, gaze intent as he steps marginally closer; not intimidating, but like he can't help himself. Keith banishes the thought as it surfaces.  
  
"I do," He repeats, hating how unsteady it comes out.  
  
Shiro's gaze drops.  
  
"Okay then," He turns away, shoulders untensing slightly. "Let's get back to work."  
  
Keith allows another quick grin.  
  
  
  
  
The announcement goes as expected- which is to say, almost great. The Mainland Council congratulates them on their marriage, while the opposing nations Queens freeze where they sit, embroidered robes and silks ceasing to whisper in contribution to the conference.  
  
"M- my apologies, Paladins," One exclaims. "I was under the impression-"  
  
"As was I-" Cuts in the other.  
  
Allura attempts to diffuse the situation before it becomes a big deal. "Please, there's no need to apologize. I'm sure you didn't mean to offend."  
  
They dissolve into hearty agreement, much to the council's dismay, stumbling over themselves while Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose in quiet exasperation. Keith fights down a grin when the agreeing takes a sharp turn into bickering. That didn't take long at all.  
  
"This is gonna be one _long_ month," Lance mumbles, slumping in his seat.  
  
Keith stifles a laugh, inclined to agree. He tunes out most of the blooming argument, settling into his hard backed chair with the notion of _maybe_ catching a few microseconds of rest, until one of the Queens insists-  
  
"Proper sleeping arrangements must be made at once!"  
  
He jumps before he can stop himself, banging a knee into the table and emitting a noise that vaguely resembles a gasped " _What?"_ Beside him, Shiro stiffens.  
  
"Of course, Paladin Keith!" She continues on, wide eyed and anxious, "Had we known, we'd have never separated the two of you to begin with! Please, you _must_ have one of the royal chambers."  
  
Lance squawks. Hunk covers his mouth. Pidge groans and sinks almost below the table.  
  
Shiro regains some coherence and starts, "No, really, that's not-"  
  
"Thank you," Keith blazes over him, stomping Shiro's boot under the table. "We appreciate it."  
  
Hunk squawks this time.  
  
  
  
  
A bed.  
  
It's just a bed.  
  
Shiro repeats the mantra to himself the rest of the day; as they become bombarded with questions and flocked by Voltron's many fans across the resort planet. They make the mistake of leaving palace grounds to explore the central marketplace -a hot, dusty, overall exhausting undertaking- and end up stranded so long behind crowds of people that the ground begins to cool when they finally return.  
  
The dirt washes off red, but Shiro still feels caked in grime after scrubbing the soil - _good for farming, noted Pidge_ \- from himself. His prosthetic retains approximately eighty percent of said grime, and he leaves the baths longing for the glorious water pressure of the Castle's showers. Some things can never be taken for granted.  
  
A long trek of (mostly self-induced) shame is tempting, but Shiro is tired, craving easy company that he can't have- and he still can't find it in himself to sulk around the palace in order to put off the sleeping arrangements anyway. They were his fault, and he's made his bed, now he just has to lie in it- literally.  
  
Returning to his original quarters is worth a shot though, so he carves out his destination with the hopes that nobody has occupied it in his absence.  
  
He's not sure what he's expecting when he opens the door- but it's not Keith.  
  
The younger Paladin glances up upon his entrance, leg bouncing where he sits. "Hey."  
  
"Hey," Shiro huffs, half amused. He leaves the door open, a silent message- and it doesn't get across. Keith remains seated at the mattress edge, eyes following him as he makes his way through the small room.  
  
"They gave us a key."  
  
Shiro rummages in the bag he'd left on the bed, grateful nothing has been moved. "Sounds good. You should get some sleep."  
  
Keith says nothing for a moment.  
  
"...it's just a bed, Shiro-"  
  
"No, Keith, it's not," He half exhales, half speaks, rifling through the contents of his bag with only a vague idea of what he was looking for. "It's a bed, and you, and my metal _arm._ It's a bed, and you, and enough bad dreams to keep you awake all night; it's a bed and you and _me_ and this isn't up for debate-" Something warm wraps itself around his middle, and he falls into silence wondering how Keith got up without him noticing.  
  
"Okay," Keith mumbles against his back. "Okay, sorry, I just-" He pauses again.  
  
His fingers are light on Shiro's ribs. "Okay."  
  
Shiro remains still, indulges himself just another minute, chasing sound logic around his head while the opposite runs rampant, and it's like trying to catch smoke in his hands. Keith is warm at his back, all lithe muscle and sharp edges, but Shiro wants to lean into him more than anything and that's- it's a dangerous want, the kind that sinks teeth into his chest and _pulls._  
  
"I'll take the floor," He says, before he can think better of it. "You need the bed."  
  
Keith exhales in relief, and it warms him through the rest of the way.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good."  
  
  
  
  
It turns out their marriage is a much bigger deal than either could have anticipated, between the reconstruction tension and the _national_ tension, and somehow it becomes the talk of the century. Shiro is baffled at first- at first, but not for long, because Pidge spells it out for them before they can even ask.  
  
"It's politics," She explains absently, typing with her left hand and shoveling food with the right. "The nation is divided, the world is divided, yada-yada. Something like this will divert attention from the rebuild effort."  
  
"I have to disagree with you there, Pigeon," Lance drapes an arm over the back of his chair, hair lit up oddly by the orange light from behind. The planet seems to be in a state of perpetual sunset, which makes waking up a regular nightmare.  
  
"Of course you do," Pidge mutters into her oatmeal. He doesn't seem to take notice.  
  
"It's not just politics," He rolls his eyes. "It's _media_ \- Two Paladins of Voltron tied the knot? Everyone in the _galaxy_ is going to want the in-story!"  
  
Hunk emits a noise of disbelief. "So what, you're going to be their source? Sell out your own teammates? That's cold, Lance."  
  
"Hey, just be grateful it wasn't you and a certain beauteous rock lady," Lance wags a spoon at him, earning ground teeth and a warning glare.  
  
"Lance isn't telling anyone anything," Shiro sighs, swirling the remaining coffee around his mug before dumping it inconspicuously into Keith's, who had turned in the chair to dig around in his backpack momentarily. "Lance is, however, going to apologize to Keith for kicking his _door_ down last night."  
  
"You guys were getting it on!"  
  
_"We weren't even awake!"_  
  
  
  
  
It's not the last they hear of _that_ , nor the following questions from the Queens about details and when Coran comes in at one point to overhear the conversation, Shiro knows they're done for.  
  
By the end of the day, it's official; The black Paladins are married, and the Jerekovians are throwing them a celebratory party while they enthusiastically continue with Coalition negotiations. Shiro counts it as a victory, though with a grain of salt, because they're almost guaranteed an alliance at this point- but they'll still be grounded on the resort planet at least three more weeks.  
  
Three weeks married to Keith, touring the capital with him, sleeping in his room. He wants this alliance -Voltron _needs_ this alliance, with the medical advancements Jerekov has put forth during the course of the war- but he has to marvel at the cost. However casual it may be, he and Keith will have to cross lines, and it's something that weighs heavy on his conscience.  
  
He wonders at it during conferences, mind straying from the very alliance they're doing this to form in the first place, eyes landing on Keith more often than not. Shiro can't help but think time has been good to him- almost two years since they've launched themselves into space, and he's taken to the life like moth to flame. He's not exactly a diplomat, but he's strong and determined and fiercely loyal, and Shiro thinks he's perfect.  
  
He thinks he's perfect, and it's always ended there.  
  
But Keith catches him looking, nearly every time, and knocks his knee against Shiro's under the table, with a half smile that tugs at his heart. If they're seated together he'll squeeze Shiro's arm in exasperation, or sometimes twine their fingers with an ease and nonchalance that baffles him.  
  
Shiro makes it a point to sit next to Keith more often.  
  
They get through the hours of meetings, and tick off each day until the celebration like neither of them are counting down. It's not as much anticipation as nerves -at least, in Shiro's mind- but some thrill is undoubtedly there, especially in the moments that he goes to put an arm around Keith's waist, or circle his hand absently, and he _can._  
  
Keith plays along, leaning into him or playing his fingers over Shiro's, and it becomes easy to forget that it's not real, that they're doing this for the alliance and _only_ for the alliance.  
  
He wonders at one point whether Keith feels the same, before dismissing the thought.  
  
  
  
  
"It's true that your militia is on the smaller side, but what good is a full military to you?" Pidge persists, pushing more green dots over the holo-map she's pulled up. The dim, curtained room is -again- nearly putting Keith to sleep on his feet, and he blames both the fucked up daylight situation and the fact that Shiro can't seem to get through one night without taking three walks as collateral.  
  
He's moved a few feet closer to the bed though, so it's the little things.  
  
"-no, Voltron is a WMD, not a guardian angel at your beck and call, _General_ -"  
  
"Ooooh," Lance leans over to Keith where they stand at the table. "We should have brought popcorn."  
  
"Shut up," Keith hisses, attempting to tune the argument out again. He'd been making headway in his inner dialogue- something about sleeping- about Shiro? The image rises suddenly, unbidden, of Shiro stripping out of the stuffy uniforms they wear during the week, figure painted blue by the outside luminescence-  
  
"Keep talking," Keith changes his mind abruptly, putting a hand to his temple and rubbing. He thought he'd gotten over this.  
  
"Hey, do you have a hangover or something?" Lance prods at his ribs as if he doesn't already have Keith's attention. "Because shame on you for not sharing the booze."  
  
"You don't drink," Keith points out, swatting at his hand. "Cut it out."  
  
The head of the table clears his throat loudly. "Shirogane, I'd like to remind you that this is a serious discussion." It faintly spikes Keith's interest- because Shiro doesn't mess around during these things, but when he glances up, the entire table is zeroed in on _him._  
  
Shirogane. Oh.  
  
"Sorry," He mutters, putting a hand back to his head. Maybe the heat is getting to him.  
  
Warm metal slides along his back, and when Shiro offers his other hand, Keith doesn't protest. He mumbles some excuse about not feeling well and follows him from the room, into a sunlit hall outside that Hunk dubbed _The Death March._ He's not sure he appreciates the label at the moment.  
  
Shiro steps in front of him, obscuring the view of the city square to cup his face. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah," He answers. It's more reflexive than honest.  
  
"Keith."  
  
"I am," He insists, reaching up to cover the hands on his jaw. "It's just the meetings- so maybe I'm tired of being locked up in dark rooms, listening to old guys argue. It's nothing, Shiro."  
  
The look he's fixed him with says he doesn't buy it, but Shiro lets him go, something odd crossing his face upon the action. Keith almost catches his hands again- he's hot and so is Shiro, but it's never mattered how uncomfortable he is. As long as he has that touch, everything else takes a backseat for a minute.  
  
Shiro sighs. "I know this is frustrating. I wish we could just-"  
  
Keith never gets to find out what Shiro wishes, because the ground shakes under them, and the square below erupts into a cloud of dust and screams.  
  
  
  
  
"I think it was uhh two- no three? EMP's, a handful of smoke pellets and standard grenades-" Hunk rattles it off to Shiro as the team sprints down the stairs. "Oh, and probably a flash bang too, if anyone was close enough-"  
  
Pidge cuts in, typing frantically at her holo-watch. "There are a few groups that might have set it off. B1, B3, D1, and F5; these guys align themselves with the East but regularly terrorize some of the smaller villages. Looks like they wanted an upgrade."  
  
"Alright, we split up to scout," Shiro decides, catching his breath. They swing around the front arches of city hall and pause there in front of the chaos while he gauges the best way to resolve this. "Lance and I take the east, Hunk heads for the blast radius -see if you can find the source- Pidge and Keith go west and circle around. Try to find whoever set it off."  
  
They break and separate with Shiro's final shout of "Get everyone out of harm's way!" and filter into the crowd as it pushes to clear the square.  
  
"Oooh, _I_ get to work with you," Lance comments, bayard materializing in his hands while they hurry through the fray. "Something happen with mullet boy while you two were gone?"  
  
"Gossip later, Lance," Shiro reprimands. He only gets a groan in response, and they settle into the task of picking civilians up, getting them to move, serving as first responders while Allura and a team of guards assemble behind them.  
  
It's a long afternoon, to say the least, and not the last.  
  
Within another week, there are three more bombings, all within the capital; and Pidge is starting to pull her hair out in frustration at the fourth. It's causing major damage to the city, of course, but also to their alliance -their already _tentative_ alliance- at a rate that both amazes and frustrates Shiro.  
  
Maybe he'd wanted to get off the planet, but not like _this._  
  
He walks in the next Monday on Pidge smashing keys, grumbling to herself, and asks whether she's gotten any sleep.  
  
"I'm calling in reinforcements," She explains groggily, avoiding the question. "Matt will be here in the morning, and Kolivan sometime before the evening session."  
  
"You think that's a good idea?" He questions, dubious.  
  
"Not really, but it's all we've got." She pauses, then adds defensively, "Allura gave me the green light."  
  
Shiro raises his hands and backs away.  
  
They spend the majority of the next day in the same place- locked in a sweltering conference room, somewhere on the higher floor of the palace, which had been deemed the safest part of the building for the time being. The only real difference is that Matt tags along with a few of his comrades, and it lightens the atmosphere a bit to have him and Pidge in the same vicinity.  
  
Shiro's only regret is that Pidge spills everything once Matt arrives- namely, the fake marriage.  
  
He promptly collapses into laughter, grabbing at Pidge and stomping his boot into the hall floor loudly.  
  
It's an uphill struggle, from then.  
  
  
  
  
"It's good to see you, Keith."  
  
He takes the offered hand and shakes. "You too, Kolivan."  
  
Despite the Blade's stony expression, he knows the fondness is there when Kolivan lets go and awkwardly ruffles his hair, commenting, "I see you finally learned to braid. Regris would be ecstatic."  
  
Keith laughs, rueful, motioning him toward the edge of the docking platform. The palace and city sprawl out below them, mountains to their back. "Maybe not- I didn't do those."  
  
A shout captures their attention. Pidge, Lance and Hunk wave frantically from the carriage beside the steps, calling out a welcome that has Kolivan huffing in amusement. He pats Keith's shoulder twice at his answer and amends, "You'll have to pass my thanks along to Shiro then."  
  
Keith blinks when the Blade walks ahead of him, but Kolivan is already occupied in getting a proper reception by the trio. He doesn't acknowledge Keith's slow frown.  
  
  
  
  
The session goes as well as anyone could assume- which is to say, not at all. Once the Queens start going back and forth on border security, the room dissolves too, with the council now divided on the matter almost straight down the middle. Keith stays out of most of it, but then someone insults Allura's choice of allies, and he lays into them.  
  
It's not his proudest moment, even if half the team isn't there to witness. Pidge, and Lance had seen an opening, taken it, and left the others to pick up the slack- but Keith doesn't blame them. He'd pushed Shiro out too, knowing full well that the man hadn't had a moment's rest in hours.  
  
It's been a rough week.  
  
He stalks from the room with that thought- that the others have just as much of a struggle with the negotiations as he does, however composed they might seem. This never gets easier, not really, but war has never been a neat affair to begin with; it's messy, and inconvenient, and there are casualties that won't be avoided, no matter how good a fight is put up.  
  
The metaphor is right there- too easy. Keith decidedly tries to take his thoughts away from Shiro.  
  
His effort goes to waste when he blindly opens the door to the west courtyard, discovering the man himself on the platform, toes hooked under the concrete flower display in the center, dutifully performing sit ups like it's anyone's pastime of choice. The fact isn't what alarms Keith, though; it's the scatter of belt and boots around Shiro, as if he'd thrown them off in a fit of frustration.  
  
He picks his way across the brick and the sprawling plant life, chastises himself for doing it. Shiro spots him and completes a few more reps before sitting up all the way and staying there, panting. "Thought there was- an hour left."  
  
"I walked," Keith answers, wondering selfishly if he was counting. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong -everything- because Shiro's time isn't his to have and Shiro doesn't see that he already has _Keith's._  
  
It's nobody's fault though, so Keith simply bats the fruitless thoughts away.  
  
Shiro rakes his fingers through the white streak, still not looking at him, and it falls in waves back to his forehead. "Why?" He asks, breathless. "Somebody... say something?"  
  
Keith forces out laugh, but that and the answer come out softer than he'd planned. "You know me so well." Shiro's gaze goes contemplative where it's fixed on the concrete.  
  
Keith shifts on one foot, offering a hand. "C'mon, I'll... let's go a few rounds."  
  
At that, Shiro looks at him, one eyebrow crooked, and Keith almost regrets the suggestion. "Yeah?"  
  
He swallows.  
  
"Yeah," He manages, hauling him up.  
  
  
  
  
"Center yourself," Shiro huffs, out of habit, blocking Keith's fist again. "Keith, _center-_ " He's interrupted by a ringing blow to his ear- it was a ruse.  
  
Keith ducks into a roll on Shiro's left, feet catching his arm in the process and hooking him down- but Shiro just rolls with him backward and plants his feet, pinning the other arm over Keith's thighs and pressing. He receives a grunt and a few kicks for his effort, gets dirt in his eyes from the motions. Maybe they could've picked a spot better than the grassy plain beside the palace.  
  
Fists, legs, full body tackles; they know this like the back of their hands, and it never gets old. Keith is a different fighter than he was at the Garrison -a different _man_ \- and Shiro feels like he's still playing catch up after so long. It's almost laughable. It's almost _sad._  
  
"Center," He repeats, because it's the one thing Keith will always have trouble with. "Your punches are only- as good as your stance-"  
  
His response is a frustrated growl as Keith tries to get in another hit. "Center... _this_... Takashi," He punctuates each pant with an open palmed jab, but the hits aren't what throw Shiro off enough to lose focus.  
  
Keith takes him down again, solid and hot against his back- but with an arm around his throat this time. The duality is startling, no matter how many times they do this.  
  
"Gotcha," He pants into Shiro's neck. The flush it provokes is completely accidental.  
  
Shiro takes a breath before rolling sideways, over Keith a few times to shake him off. The weight leaves his back and they both sprawl out on the ground, pushing up on hands and knees before throwing punches back into the fight- making contact is the game, winning is the prize.  
  
But Shiro ends up with his own forearm pressed to Keith's throat, the other wrapped under his leg to pin a wrist, and he has the strongest feeling that he's lost already.  
  
"Yield," Keith manages, and they both gasp when the hold loosens.  
  
A long minute passes, filled by heaving chests and a frozen pose that has Shiro's heart jumping.  
  
He rests his forehead against Keith's sternum without thinking about it, spent, and exhausted in a way that feels good for the first time this week. He's still running on adrenaline, and not enough sleep- but Keith palms over his shaking arm and it brings him down, shifts his focus into something simpler.  
  
It takes longer minutes to catch their breath, and by then, the sun has disappeared behind the mountains.  
  
"Do you like it here?" Keith asks, subdued. He sets a hand over Shiro's neck, shaky from expending too much energy, too fast, and Shiro suppresses another shudder at the touch.  
  
_You_ , He almost corrects. _I like you here, like being beside you and sleeping in your room, watching you fight, calling you Shirogane-_  
  
Keith's eyes are on him when he looks again, dark and tired; Shiro isn't the only one suffering for this alliance, but he somehow manages to forget when Keith's been picking him up the entire month, lending Shiro his strength like it's nothing. The recollection is frightening- to think that Keith is pouring himself out for Shiro, and he still can't repay.  
  
"What is it," Keith murmurs, an almost-question. His voice is like- warmth, curling around Shiro, pulling him in.  
  
Or so he tells himself, when he's leaning down to find his mouth in the dark.  
  
Keith _does_ pull him in then, one hand gripping at his back, the other at his neck sliding, sliding over his head, stroking at the point where longer black falls across his undercut. Shiro gathers him up with a helpless noise, metal arm slipping under his back, flesh fingers trying to find someplace- his shoulder, his jaw, somewhere to settle-  
  
There's the sound of a door opening somewhere in the background and Shiro plants his hand on the dirt to jerk back. Noise spills over them briefly, but it's gone before either can react.  
  
The grassy stretch returns to quiet.  
  
Shiro can't bring himself to look back at Keith, so he hovers there precariously for a painful moment- until Keith clears his throat, thumps his head back against the dirt. "That was- pretty good." His voice is hoarse. "If we do that at the ball then they- nobody will suspect. Good- good tactic."  
  
Air rushes back into his lungs, too fast. Too clarifying.  
  
"Yeah," He manages, gaze darting from Keith to the ground to the courtyard, and back again. "Guess so."  
  
It takes another few beats, but eventually Shiro forces his limbs back into motion, retracting his arms and climbing off of Keith- even while everything in him is screaming to cling, hold, _stay._  
  
But he just offers a hand, and they rise together to head back.

 

 

"They want our forces, not our cause. What happens when the war's over and dozens of rebels are stranded on foreign soil? What's keeping the powers that be from -I don't know- enslaving them?" Matt runs out of breath and pauses, waiting expectantly for Lance's answer.  
  
Lance groans loudly, and stretches out again, sprawled on the table of the conference room. "Dude, just because the Galra are bad doesn't mean every alien _ever_ is bad too. Why don't you like, relax, enjoy the place, give these nice people the benefit of the doubt-"  
  
"Oh like what you guys did before half the city caught fire? Right."  
  
Hunk jumps in from beside Shiro, who'd only tuned in after Keith dozed off against his shoulder. "Lance, he's got a point. I never liked this alliance to begin with, but it's only been getting dodgier the longer we stay. I say we tough it out til the party, fake getting food poisoning, and scram." He waggles his fingers in what looks like a 'scatter' gesture.  
  
"It's not that easy, Hunk," Shiro says, tired. "There are good people on this planet- people that could need just as much protection from their _leaders_ as the Galra. We can't abandon them."  
  
"I must disagree with you there, Paladin." Kolivan folds his arms, leaning against the chair where Allura had been seated. She and the council had retreated to a press meeting after the session. "This planet is one of hundreds in potential alliances, and perhaps the least militarily stable. The part they would play in this coalition would be largely political. It may not be -as you humans might say- _worth the grief._ "  
  
"That doesn't mean we should give up," Pidge defends. "These people may not have weapons, but they have _medicine_ , and that's more than most of our allies. That has to count for something-"  
  
"In a space war, Pidge?" Matt interjects. "Good medicine won't do anything if we don't have good _pilots_. I know how bad you want to help, but from a tactical perspective- this could be a huge waste of time. Precious time."  
  
She reddens in frustration and shoots something back, just as Lance straightens abruptly to jump in, and the room dissolves again into upset discussion.  
  
Shiro sighs and tightens his arm around Keith as the younger stirs, mumbling something soft and content. It's such a contrast to the current atmosphere; lifting a bit of the weight over Shiro's shoulders. He strokes his fingers down Keith's cheek- just once. Just a small indulgence this time, because sparring him against the sunset, pressing him into the grass, kissing him-  
  
It's a risk. It's that want again, clawing into his gut.  
  
He glances back at the others when the argument escalates, about to jump in. None of them have the energy for anger right now, and even if-  
  
The ground shakes beneath their feet, cutting off the lights and the argument.

 

 

"-and Keith with Hunk, just like the last one," Shiro finishes calling out the plan. Keith tries not to deflate as they break.  
  
"Again, huh?" Hunk questions immediately, while they get to scouring the marketplace- higher end, this time, with glass windows and enclosed roofs, glinting with the perpetual afternoon light and blinding Keith momentarily. The stones underfoot are rough on their shoes, but there hadn't been time to throw on armor before scattering. He continues, "I know something's still up with you and Shiro, but I figured-"  
  
"It's nothing," Keith shoots back, distracted. For once, his mind isn't completely occupied by Shiro- he thinks he might want to keep it that way for a little while.  
  
Besides, something isn't right.  
  
"Does this seem strange to you?" He follows up, glancing around at the brick and cobblestone and glass. Hunk slows down when he does.  
  
"What, like the buildings?"  
  
He wipes a hand over a dusty window, unsure of what he's checking for. "I don't know. Something doesn't feel right."  
  
Hunk sighs, but he's listening, tuned in to what Keith's saying. "Are your Galra senses tingling, or something? Is it that?"  
  
Keith shoots him a glance. "No, I don't have- it's-" He huffs in exasperation as he continues on, along the shop window to the alley, and then the next.  
  
"I don't know," He repeats, dropping his hand. Why can't he figure this out?  
  
He turns back to Hunk after another beat, when the taller Paladin suggests, "Maybe we should go back." And they _should_ \- at least, he _feels_ like they should; but what if he's just being paranoid? They have a job to do for Shiro and this alliance, and there's no threat in sight to stop them-  
  
"Hunk," Keith realizes slowly. "Where is everyone?"  
  
The question hangs in empty space. It settles into the dust and dirt layering the street.  
  
"Okay, yeah. Not saying we should definitely go back- but we should _definitely_ go back."  
  
Keith is in the process of agreeing when the ground shakes again underfoot, and a cloud blooms over the rooftops to the south. "There!"  
  
"Wait!" Hunk calls as he takes off, panicked. "Are you sure we should really do this?!"  
  
"We don't have a choice!" He hears the fall of footsteps behind him as they break into a run.  
  
  
  
  
Shiro is already tearing across the crowded restaurant plaza by the time Keith comes through over the stealth comms.  
  
"Shiro, tell everyone to stay away from the blast site- stay as far away as possible!"  
  
"Keith, what's going on?" He demands, listening to the panic rise, watching smoke bloom in the distance. The view shakes from the way the dirt jolts his legs with every step, jarring his spine. "Where are you?" Something in him already knows the answer, and his gut twists as they sprint on.  
  
"We're in the thick of it- there's no way we can cut through-" A clash of blades reaches Shiro's ears, followed by a loud grunt.  
  
"Is Hunk there?!" Lance demands shrilly, running alongside Shiro. "Is he okay- what's happening, Keith?!"  
  
"I lost sight of him- the civilians are trapped under the square in this bunker and- we're not going to make it out, just get back to the palace, send the guards-"  
  
"No way!" Pidge cuts in over the line. "We're all here- we need to move _now_ , while the group is in one place!"  
  
"It's the only way we'll take them down," Matt agrees, through a bit of static. "If we meet up at the north steps then-"  
  
"No!" Keith shouts back, breathless. "This was a mistake- I'm telling you there are too many of them, even if we all combine efforts! Just get back to- _augh!"_  
  
Shiro's heartrate spikes rapidly at the noise wrenched from Keith, and he pushes to get through the plaza faster. "Keith? _Keith!"_ When there's no response, he switches gears. "Pidge, radio Allura and Kolivan! We need to get those guards down here asap- you and Matt meet us on the north steps, and we'll go from there, got it?"  
  
The team calls out an affirmative as smoke continues pouring into the sky.  
  
By the time they arrive, the square is reduced to a square mile of debris and rubble, shrouded in ash. Shiro stumbles over an unmoving Jerekovian, and then another, and then-  
  
They're _everywhere._  
  
"What... happened?" Lance asks, surveying the damage. "The Lions couldn't have done this- Allura has them locked in the hangars."  
  
Pidge and Matt sprint to their side, both letting out an incredulous chuckle at the sight.  
  
"It looks like a misfire," Pidge explains, bending to catch her breath. "This has to be the D1 group- they haven't perfected their weapons against the capital. Looks like their own bombs must've exploded in their faces."  
  
"Not just their's," Shiro manages, motioning the team on. "Matt, see if you can locate an entrance to the bunker. Pidge- can you get a lock on Hunk or Keith?"  
  
She snorts, smug even when out of breath as she pulls up a holo map from her watch, tapping at a rapid pace. "Who do you think you're talking to? As long as they're in the same place as their earpieces, Hunk is somewhere in... building 2A, over there," She points out a smoldering brick building to the right, and Lance takes off without hesitation. "Hey, wait for me!" She breaks into a sprint after him, collapsing the map.  
  
"Pidge, wait!" Shiro calls. "You didn't tell us where Keith-"  
  
"Doesn't matter, I got him," Matt interrupts, holding up his own map as they walk. "He's near the stairs to the bunker- main building over there." Shiro nods and follows when he shakes away the holo and picks up into a run.  
  
The damage to the square is- catastrophic. Shiro looks at the bodies and the flames and tries to put a cap on the flood of worry that rushes in, but it's unsuccessful. It doesn't help that the building they're headed toward -the one that Keith is in- is all but crumbling before them. The blast must've originated there.  
  
Icy dread trickles into his spine, and it's a stark contrast to the stifling heat surrounding them.  
  
"Guys, I found Hunk!" Lance's voice comes over the comm again. "He's pretty roughed up, but we'll be on our way once we free these hostages, so don't wait up for us!"  
  
Matt, though he looks about as tense as Shiro, manages a quick chuckle in response. "Wasn't planning on it, Lance."  
  
"I see how it is," He shoots back, but it's more good-natured than his tone before.  
  
They fall back into silence, save for the steady stomp of boots. The atmosphere is unnerving in that respect; everyone in the vicinity must have fled after the first bombing, and the terrorists barely make a sound where they're lying among the debris. The only noise is the persistent crackle of fire as the two forge further into the rubble.  
  
"This- doesn't look good," Matt mutters, once they reach the cracked marble steps. He's putting a voice to what Shiro won't.  
  
"He'll be fine," Shiro answers, harsher than intended. Matt turns a worried look on him, but he ignores it, picking across the smashed floor to the open stairwell. They take it down at a rapid pace, tripping over more downed terrorists than before- almost to the point where they can't find a clean step on the way. It spikes more panic, thinking that Keith is on the other side of- _that._  
  
His heart jumps to his throat when they reach the bottom.  
  
"Keith!" Matt says it before he can, both tripping over the last steps to kneel down by the younger man. He gasps at the footsteps, blinking up through an eye coated in blood and- Shiro sucks in a breath at the angle of his spine. It looks- _wrong._  
  
Despite this, the uneven lift of his chest, and the various dark scrapes and bruising, Keith thunks his head back with a grin. He lifts his fingers to slip over Shiro's like he just needs a hand up- like they'd just been going at it too long on the training deck, and it's so essentially _Keith_ that Shiro drowns under a wave of relief.  
  
"I told you not to come," He rasps, but his grip is vice-like.  
  
Shiro presses his forehead to Keith's temple and finds the breath to laugh. "Looks like I didn't get the memo."  
  
  
  
  
"-sn't he breathing funny? Look,"  
  
"You think everyone's breathing funny, Pidge!"  
  
"Hey, you're the one who knocked over the monitor anyway so how's that for-"  
  
"Knock it off, you two."  
  
Keith shifts slowly and takes a sharp breath, pain throbbing along his ribs. The voices stop at once- though he can't be completely sure he didn't just fall back into oblivion. Is something squeezing his hand?  
  
A solid warmth drifts over his forehead. "...Keith? Are you with m- us? Can you hear us?"  
  
He tries to mumble out an affirmative, grateful when it comes out steady enough. The team appears before his half-open eyes, crowded round the bed excitedly, as if they've been waiting all morning to see him.  
  
Pidge gasps, and he tries for a grin. They probably have.  
  
"Keith, you- you're- you idiot," She finally settles on, grabbing his other hand. "I can't believe you guys fell for that explosion fake-out!"  
  
"I-" He coughs, throat dusty. "I'm sorry. Is Hunk-?"  
  
"He's fine," Lance answers- smile almost earnest, or at least lacking some of the usual forced malice. "Everyone made it out in one piece this time, man."  
  
Matt plops down in the chair beside the hospital bed, leaning his head against the wall as he snorts. "Yeah, everyone except Keith's _spine._ " Pidge shoots him a glare.  
  
"Don't be morbid," Allura admonishes, arms crossed. "The damage was _not_ irreparable. He just needed a few micro-surgeries."  
  
Pidge jumps in again, more enthusiastic. "It's actually really interesting. Hunk had a few busted ribs too -he's out cold right now, we talked to him last hour- but the Jerekovians were able to stitch them back together in seconds! Usually that takes about an hour in our pods, I mean, not counting the aftercare guidelines; you see, when the marrow fractures-"  
  
"I don't think he's awake enough for a science lesson, Pidge," Shiro cuts in from his seat on the bed, but it's soft. Quieter than usual. His eyes haven't shifted from Keith yet.  
  
"Yeah, well- whatever," Lance rolls his eyes, recovering his air of (attempted) nonchalance as he crosses his arms, cocking one hip. Keith bites back a weak laugh- that certainly didn't take long, but he's not sure he expected anything different. "We didn't really want to talk to him anyway, right Pidge? If he wants to miss out on your rad studies, then _fine."_  
  
Allura frowns. "What is a... 'rad studies'?"  
  
Pidge huffs and grabs Lance's arm as he raises a finger, preceding his explanation- but her voice is fond as she mutters and drags him away. "Nope. You'll just confuse her. Come on, let's check on Hunk again." They exit the room with a few more heated exchanges, boots clicking the tiled stone floors before fading.  
  
Keith closes his eyes briefly, tips his head back. "I fucked up."  
  
"You did no such thing," Allura shoots back firmly. "Thanks to you and Hunk, the group has been apprehended. The council is no longer calling for military forces- in fact, they've begun planning an expansion of their own militia, under their _own_ supervision. This is a huge step, Keith."  
  
He exhales in a rush, pushing up on his elbows to insist in frustration, "I led Hunk straight into a death trap! I led _everyone_ there! How is that a huge step when one of you could have-"  
  
"One of us?" Matt interrupts. He's leaning forward now, hands curling on his knees like he's keeping from shaking Keith by the shoulders. "Keith, I get it- I get that you're worried about your squadron -team- but you guys caught a _terrorist group._ You saved lives- you broke your back in three places, your ribs in six, and you're worried about _us?_ Take it easy, man. You did good."  
  
He rakes his bangs back with his free hand, half-laughing. "I think Kolivan would disagree with you there."  
  
"He doesn't," Allura insists. "He's been pulling his hair out over the fact that you were injured, again- but he shares our mindset. You helped save the city, and everyone in it. Nobody is blaming you for anything."  
  
He isn't sure why this is still up for debate when he so obviously _screwed up_ , so he starts to argue again, brows furrowed further and mouth opening. "I'm just saying that I-"  
  
"Keith," Shiro finally speaks, cupping his face, turning Keith's head to him.  
  
The action silences him in a second, and he feels like he should laugh at how little effort it takes Shiro to do so. He _feels_ like he should; but with the way Shiro is looking at him, pained and earnest like he has broken ribs of his own- he finds the urge to argue fading. Taking a backseat and dying in his throat.  
  
There's something off in Shiro's expression. Where he's usually open and readable, unguarded- he isn't, anymore.  
  
"What is it?" Keith asks, and the question knocks him back in time to the grass and the stars, and the discovery that Shiro kisses like he needs it to breathe. Keith feels like the one who needs it now, but there's no way he could do that- no way he could _get away_ with it.  
  
It's a stupid thought. They're not in a dark field this time. They're not alone.  
  
Except maybe they are. He sees Matt and Allura exchange a glance out of the corner of his eye, and quietly slink out of view- presumably out of the room, after he hears the door open.  
  
_Traitors,_ he almost mutters under his breath, and thinks Shiro might be fighting not to do the same.  
  
His hands are still on Keith's face- but he's not looking at him.  
  
"I can't do this," Shiro whispers, under his breath, but Keith catches it. "I thought I could do- I can't."  
  
The floor seems to drop with Shiro's hands. "Can't... what- what does that mean?" Keith thinks for a split second that this is about his screw-up with the explosions- Shiro had never commented on it, had he? Maybe he's angry, maybe he thinks Keith is right, that he's unfit to make decisions in Shiro's place when the stakes are so high-  
  
Shiro's eyes flit back to his, and he hesitates. He looks to be on the verge of spilling something important, but the look flickers and shifts; gone when he says instead, "Watching you- get hurt. I can't keep- I don't want to see anything happen to you."  
  
Keith feels his brow furrow almost unconsciously, because he believes him -of course he believes him- but he also wants to know why Shiro looks _guilty_. "Is that what this is really about?"  
  
Shiro falters like he's choosing his words. "What else would it be about?"  
  
Keith finds himself raking a hand harshly through his hair, fighting a pained laugh- and losing.  
  
_Take your pick,_ he thinks, _my bad decisions, or the stress of the alliance- how it's getting easier to pretend you're mine, or the fact that you don't sleep through the night anymore, the way you look at me when you think I don't notice and kiss me like you can't help it-_  
  
The points lump in his throat and refuse to come out.  
  
"Shiro, why can't you-" He doesn't know what he's asking for as he fists his hands into his hair, leaning closer almost subconsciously. He knows what he wants, but to put a name to it is something terrifying and infinitely worse than keeping quiet, so he just thinks aloud- stumbles over a question that's only half formed. "I don't- why won't you just-"  
  
Shiro lifts his hands and interrupts, holding his face again. He looks worried, and lost- so lost that Keith wants to snap at him, but Shiro's closing the gap before he can gather a sense of coherency, pressing his lips to the very corner of Keith's.  
  
The tremor of his hands is unprecedented.  
  
Keith holds his breath; and if someone were to peer through the window behind, they might think the two were statues with how still they are. Shiro's exhale is warm and shaking on his skin.  
  
He does it again, presses soft kisses along Keith's cheek, under his eye. Keith has to remind himself that this doesn't mean anything- it's just planning ahead, a fallback in that case that they need something like this to defend their facade, because it couldn't be - _isn't_ anything else. Isn't-anything. _Nothing._  
  
It doesn't feel like nothing.  
  
It feels like love, like a gentleness he hasn't known- in a long time. Maybe ever. The culmination of months in Shiro's orbit, the weight of his eyes and heart always close to Keith, the feeling of his hand over layers of fabric and armor and the longing for something _more._ It rushes in like water, and he can't breathe through it.  
  
By the time Shiro mouths over his lower lip again, he feels like every cracked rib has been re-broken.  
  
But it's _nothing._  
  
"Stay here," He says, before he can help himself. Shiro pauses where his nose is brushing Keith's cheek -he refuses to call it a nuzzle, because Shiro doesn't- he wouldn't. Keith knows this, but he still presses. He's _not_ begging. "Just for the night, stay here."  
  
Shiro says his name, sounds like he's trying to find an excuse, but Keith pleads quietly, "Don't sleep in that room alone."  
  
And he knows he's got him.  
  
  
  
  
It's a bad idea. Shiro counts all the ways it could go wrong, and comes up with a dozen. Having a weapon for an arm leaves room for anything.  
  
He hopes briefly that the doctors will kick him out, but they're more than obliging, in the end, and scramble to accommodate, dumping blankets and pillows over Keith until he's just a pair of eyes and a tuft of raven hair peeking out. Despite the planet's stifling atmosphere, their hospitals are well aired, so it doesn't cross his mind to worry about getting overheated.  
  
Maybe a little- but that has more to do with Keith than the blankets.  
  
"Don't laugh at me," Keith accuses, voice muffled under his nest. He must be mistaking Shiro's flush for suppressed amusement. "C'mere."  
  
He can't say no to that, no matter how hard he fights. Keith moves over to make room for him, and they're lucky the Jerekovians go by different labels of mattress size, because somehow they both fit. Technically there are a few more hours in the day, but Keith wore himself out talking (stressing) and Shiro silently swears as he settles in that he's out of there, once Keith is asleep.  
  
He has to put in _some_ effort, even if every part of him is screaming to curl around Keith and hide in his neck for the night.  
  
"Okay?" Keith asks, tucked against his arm -his left arm- cheek pressing into his shoulder. Shiro almost huffs at the question; if anything, he should be asking it, not Keith.  
  
"Yeah," He answers, wrapping his arm around Keith and trying not to enjoy the feeling of having him close. He fails.  
  
And he falls asleep.  
  
No- they both do.  
  
Shiro wakes in the middle of the night, because of course he does- it's what happens, and why did he think sleeping next to Keith would change anything?  
  
He comes to half-risen with a hand behind him on Keith's chest, shaking and afraid to look- almost irrationally so. It isn't until a gentle touch to his wrist draws his attention that he does, finding Keith bleary eyed and soft with sleep, sinking in the blankets and pillows like they'll swallow him up.  
  
His eyes drift shut once, open, and close again, while his chest expands under Shiro's hand.  
  
His ribs. Shit, his _ribs-_  
  
"Keith," Shiro manages, and the name is punched out of him. "Keith- oh my g- _Keith-"_  
  
The younger man shushes him and lifts his hands out. It takes Shiro a minute to recognize the gesture.  
  
He's a fool, but he goes willingly into Keith's arms, pressing his head close to the side of his chest instead of directly there- enough that he can hear a steady heartbeat, but not crush the smaller body underneath. Keith envelopes him, wrapping one leg around his knee, dragging the blanket back over top of them.  
  
He tucks it around Shiro's shoulders, too hazy with exhaustion. The action is so unexpected and tender that Shiro could cry.  
  
"Better?" Keith asks, whispering.  
  
Shiro nods into his chest, not trusting his voice.  
  
  
  
  
The negotiations slide into place after that.  
  
The final bombing was a wake up call, and while -miraculously- none of the hostages from the East End were killed, the damage to the East square was massive. Keith -and everyone else- still aren't quite sure how the terrorists managed to slip into the city undetected, but there were enough of them to pose a real threat- before their explosives misfired spectacularly, that said.  
  
Both Queens start calling for an expansion of ground military forces, and the Council pledge their allegiance to the Coalition on realistic terms; they'll convert unused land into refugee shelter for the war effort, and ship new medical advancements to Olkari in exchange for a hefty sum of rebels to train a new militia. Voltron's protection is a given, at that.  
  
Despite Keith's regret at the bombing scare, he acknowledges after being released that they'd done as well as could be expected. Most of the convincing comes from Hunk as they crutch toward the carriage.  
  
Scratch that, he thinks. Most of the _admonishing._  
  
"Keith, I swear if you don't get your head on straight, I will leave you to crutch your way to the palace!"  
  
"No you won't," He huffs, grinning.  
  
Hunk cuts him a look. "Don't underestimate my pettiness. Remember the Weblum?"  
  
"I try not to."  
  
"Exactly," He shudders in response, and the crutches rattle under his arms. Keith had tried to get him a wheelchair, but he'd insisted that the injuries were minimal; Keith had agreed after seeing him tackle Lance across the room. They'd been _extremely_ relieved to see each other. "Anyway, what kind of reception do you think we'll get after this? I hope they don't throw a banquet again, because these guys may be medical experts- but their cooking leaves something to be desired. A _lot_ of something."  
  
"I guess so," Keith humors him, but his laugh is genuine when he suggests, "Maybe Lance will finally get that parade he'd been hounding Allura for."  
  
Hunk groans. "Maybe he'll finally get a marriage proposal of his own."  
  
They both shudder this time, and glance at each other.  
  
Hunk reaches out to knock on the wood rail the same time Keith does.  
  
  
  
  
Despite their speculation, there isn't as much of a reception as they'd assumed. Instead, the palace is bustling with caretakers and janitors, shouting orders and fretting over curtain colors as the main steps become crowded with various wild decorations. Keith dodges a servant carrying a leafy, potted plant, and whips his head around trying to take in the chaos.  
  
"Boy, I guess that party got bumped up," Hunk comments, whistling appreciatively at the huge poster unfurling above the ballroom door. "Hope your back finishes healing in time for the dance." Keith scowls at the elbow to his arm, but Hunk just pulls him in for a side hug, chest rumbling with a giddy laugh. "Aw, don't be like that, Keith, we earned this. You're not allowed to worry about the alliance anymore, got me?"  
  
"That's rich, coming from you," Keith grumbles, but he can't fight a smile.  
  
A few figures emerge from the din, which he quickly identifies as Allura, Lance, and Shiro- all sporting stuffier than usual outfits and looking vaguely disgruntled. The expressions morph when they catch sight of the two, though, into something more giddy and excited than anything. The sudden shift throws Keith off.  
  
"Hey!" Lance waves obnoxiously and sprints up, eyes going wide upon spotting them. "You made it!"  
  
Keith quirks an eyebrow. "What, did you expect otherwise?" The groan and light punch he receives isn't entirely undeserved.  
  
"Glad to see you two up and about," Allura greets them warmly, reaching to squeeze both men's shoulders in welcome. "We have a _lot_ to discuss before tomorrow."  
  
"Tomorrow as in- tomorrow?" Hunk asks. "Like, are we leaving tomorrow, or is there another meeting or-?"  
  
Lance throws an arm around his shoulders. "To the contrary my good man, we've got a whole bunch of _nothing_ planned for tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that- and then _one_ more day- but those aren't important, obviously. What _is_ important is what happens after that."  
  
Hunk glances at Keith, who mouths _five bucks_. He rolls his eyes in a clear message- _you're on._  
  
Lance shakes Hunk a little, emphasizing. "The _party- duh_." Keith winces at Hunk's triumphant grin, though he's secretly grateful for the confirmation that there _won't_ be a parade. He's not sure he'd survive any more fanfare than what they're already going through.  
  
His focus shifts to Shiro, who has yet to speak. He glances away at Keith's gaze, as if caught, rubbing the side of his jaw. "What are you here for, then?" Keith asks, knowing Shiro picks up on the light tease. "Wanted to lecture us on ball etiquette before we can relax?"  
  
A faint smile crosses his face upon looking again to Keith, and he jokes back, "Maybe I just wanted to welcome my husband back, after he broke nearly every bone in his torso."  
  
Hunk groans. Lance makes a disgusted noise when Keith blows Shiro a fake kiss, and the pair abandon them for Allura, grumbling something as the others walk closer.  
  
"Sorry I wasn't there to bring you back," Shiro says, and brushes a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "It's been a little hectic around here lately."  
  
Keith scoffs without malice. "I can handle myself."  
  
"Can you handle those stairs?"  
  
He subtly looks around him and gauges the height they have to climb to get back to the room, answering weakly, "Yeah. Sure. Won't be a problem." Shiro chuckles and pulls his crutches away. Keith grabs his arm and starts to demand what he's doing, before the older man sweeps him up into- god. He's going to carry Keith up the stairs. In a bridal hold, no less.  
  
Keith doesn't have the capacity to protest, so he just presses closer to Shiro and hides behind his hands, less embarrassed than amused, but still suffering from a healthy dose of self-consciousness. He's sure they're already garnering stares by the action alone. "Don't drop me."  
  
Shiro chuckles again, the sound vibrating through his chest. Keith can't be sure, but he thinks he feels a kiss pressed to the top of his head.  
  
"Have a little faith."  
  
  
  
  
Despite Shiro's request for Keith to take it easy, both he and Hunk attend the evening sessions -some of the last, thankfully- while the Council works out the final kinks in their alliance.  
  
They'd done most of the legwork directly after the bombing, mostly through Allura's solid insistence and commitment to pushing the alliance through. Kolivan had objections at first- but even he had to acknowledge the benefit of a resort planet welcoming refugees onto the grounds; and after he and Matt were won over, they put as much effort into finishing the contract as the rest of the team.  
  
The meetings pass less painfully than before- and Shiro is relieved. The Council seems to be in the best mood yet since they'd arrived.  
  
Keith, Hunk and Allura stay behind for a special audience with the Queens, who want to award the two men with some sort of title- as a thanks, he assumes, for fending off the terrorists. Shiro has a feeling they'll be unsuccessful.  
  
He parts ways with the others, and finds himself heading to the room he and Keith have been sharing before the last two days- and it's a strange feeling, to know that in a few more, he'll be spending his nights without the younger man in close proximity. Maybe he's selfish for the flutter of regret that churns through his stomach.  
  
Maybe he doesn't care.  
  
The room is cold when he shuts the door, dark and neglected in the frenzy of the last few days. He vaguely remembers giving someone an order not to touch it while Keith was bedridden.  
  
It's still strewn with clothes and suits, and too many useless accessories. Shiro picks up Keith's jacket from the floor and wanders the length of the carpet, rubbing his thumb over the fabric absently, wondering whether it would brighten his room on the castle if Keith were to sleep there once in a while. The notion is ridiculous, but he's embarrassed by how much he wants it.  
  
He starts the fire, a half formed conflict rising, and goes about his night routine while it slowly evolves. A few minutes to midnight finds him perched at Keith's normal spot on the bed, his jacket replaced with one of Shiro's worn t-shirts.  
  
"What are you doing," He mutters aloud, but the door opens before he can finish the thought.  
  
Keith more walks than crutches in- Pidge wasn't kidding about the healing speed of those microsurgeries.  
  
He leans the metal frames against the wall at the sight of Shiro, and then himself; shoulder digging into the corner near the bath door. He's smiling. "Hi."  
  
Shiro's hands itch to reach for him, pull him closer but- not yet. Not before he hears what Keith has to say.  
  
"I hope you didn't wait up for me," Keith continues, after a pause, ducking his head. "It took a long time to convince the Queens that I didn't want to be knighted."  
  
"You should be," Shiro surprises himself by speaking. "Both of you."  
  
He lets out a funny laugh, and it must still be a little painful, because his palm goes to his side, rubbing at the place where his ribs were cracked and Shiro- he wants to cover that hand with his own, kiss his way up the bruising he knows is still below that shirt. He wants it so bad, the room seems suddenly devoid of oxygen.  
  
Keith quiets down again for a minute, eyes drifting around the room with a soft wistfulness that Shiro wishes he could bottle up and save, but it flickers by the time his gaze settles back onto Shiro- or rather, on the shirt he's still holding in his lap.  
  
"You're on the bed," He says, tone indiscernable.  
  
It's a point laced with metal jaws. Shiro can't deny the observation, but he doesn't call attention to it by questioning Keith's intent.  
  
To do that would be to ask for something he's not ready for. If not rejection, then-  
  
"Is that for me?"  
  
He blinks at Keith. The younger man rubs his neck, and Shiro must be imagining the flush there- in fact, he's not entirely sure the question was really spoken at all, either. Keith's hand drops, and he wrings both lightly while approaching the bed, nodding to the bundle of fabric. "The shirt. I was just going to change since- I mean, I took a bath earlier. I just want to crash now."  
  
This is the part where Shiro swallows his wishes and stands, laughing it off like he'd just needed to sit down for a minute, letting Keith sleep undisturbed for once- just one night, before they return to the castle. He deserves that much, to not be woken up by Shiro's shaking or the nervous urge to _leave_ , walk _away_ , put enough space between them that he's not a danger.  
  
This is the part where he repays.  
  
And he can't do it.  
  
He nods once, and lets Keith reach back, pull his current long-sleeve over his head, ruffling his hair in the process. He lets Keith take the shirt and pull it on, hiding the fading bruises he still wants to worship with a reverence that can't be healthy. Keith isn't just his body- but it is _part_ of him, and strong, and beautiful enough that Shiro should feel ugly and marred in comparison; but he lets himself ignore the weight to the thought now.  
  
He lets Keith lift the collar to his nose and hide there, eyes crinkling with a fondness that envelopes Shiro even as his gaze is on the floor.  
  
Keith draws a little closer, and Shiro lets himself press against the hollow between his ribs, wrap his arms around Keith's narrow, narrow waist. It should be easy; to finally give in, to not stop Keith, to give himself _permission_ \- but he thinks it might be one of the hardest things he's done throughout this entire ordeal.  
  
He wants Keith, and he's afraid to want Keith, and these are facts that simply exist in his world. There's not much to be done about them.  
  
"Let's call it a night, Shiro," Keith whispers, stroking a hand down his head, down his back.  
  
Again, it's too tender. He's used to rough hands, swinging blades, a world with no mercy at the heart of a war that leaves little space for anything else. Keith is that, somehow, and not. Shiro wishes he could put a name to him, something like strength, a gentle storm- something like _home._  
  
The words lump in his throat, and he can't force them out.  
  
He can only nod, and squeeze his eyes shut against the building pressure.  
  
  
  
  
The next days are a flurry of work and fun- a fact which Keith is immensely grateful for. He watches the smiles return to the team's faces, the color flourish around the palace, the line of Shiro's shoulders relax with every passing session that flies past. He finds himself even enjoying the festivities- even when Pidge gasps and remembers just how terrible his dancing is, demanding that they practice beforehand because " _I am not looking a fool at some backwater planet's only international celebration, Keith."_  
  
"It's not an international thing," He answers, flustered.  
  
"Are you an idiot?" She shoots back, and holds up a hand. "No, actually, don't answer that. Now that the alliance has gone through, and the Coalition is fully behind Jerekov, they're going to want to send some of their own to the celebration."  
  
He feels his jaw drop. "But everyone- dozens of _galaxies_ are going to think Shiro and I are married! Pidge, I thought we could keep this contained to the one planet!"  
  
She shrugs, and spins him again. "There are greater tragedies."  
  
Keith remains silent and pale.  
  
Lance yells from across the room. "You could always divorce him!"  
  
The hiccup detracts slightly from the preparations and excitement- but Pidge is right. They wanted this alliance; they lost sleep for it, fought and _bled_ for it, and he's not about to back out now. He knows Shiro won't, either, so now it's just a matter of buckling down and resigning himself to his fate.  
  
It terrifies him to realize he's looking forward to it.  
  
  
  
  
"Hey, Keith," Shiro beckons him away from the fountain, over to where he leans on the rail of the orange-washed gazebo. The setting sun throws light over his face, smoothing out some of the lines, painting his loose shirt gold and the scars white where they creep up his arms, disappearing into his rolled sleeves.  
  
He looks young, and content, and Keith thinks faintly that the image will be burned into his mind for an eternity.  
  
"Something up?" Keith asks, hopping up onto the rail, swinging his legs over the side where Shiro stands. The older man cuts him a stern look- but Keith's never been one to pay attention to an object's designated use, so he stays put, bumping his leg against Shiro's hip. "Shut up. Let me have this."  
  
"I didn't say anything."  
  
"You didn't have to," He answers. Shiro laughs.  
  
They lapse into silence for a while, and his eyes stray past Keith again to the rest of the sprawling garden lawn, where arches and flowers and potted plants of all shapes and sizes are being set up. The Queens had mentioned something about an after-party tradition, but it slips Keith's mind as he watches Shiro, drinking in the sight of him relaxed and happy.  
  
It's an image he thinks he could get drunk on, a pleasant buzz humming through his blood.  
  
"Keith?" Shiro finally looks back to him, straightening with his hands on the rail, and he's taller that way. When Keith tilts his head, Shiro swallows. "Will you- will you kiss me again?" The request is a little rough, a little unsure, in danger of cracking for a moment.  
  
He lets it sink in, gaze dropping to Shiro's lips before he can help himself, then to Shiro's hand where it rests over the wood of the gazebo, hesitating- less out of contemplation than surprise. It feels different, to be asked. Shiro had just- _kissed him_ , the last times, and he's not complaining but it just feels- _different._  
  
"In case," He clarifies, but it's weak, and Shiro is already leaning in.  
  
He tastes like warmth, and support, and the kind of sunlight that thaws Keith through to the bone.  
  
  
  
  
The celebration kicks off, and Shiro doesn't think he's ever been more relieved to attend a party full of people he doesn't know.  
  
He dances with Pidge, and then Hunk- Lance denies the offer on the basis of his pride, but Shiro can tell he's just embarrassed about his lack of skill. Luckily Allura steps in, and the two wander toward one of the balconies so she can give him some subtle pointers; Lance looking more grateful for her offer than the other's. Coran innocently compares his moves to a flying Yelhorn, and Pidge is reduced to tears of laughter.  
  
Coran, despite being more of a tourist than anything during the trip, talks politics most of the time, mingling with the nobility and managing to charm -not one- but _both_ Queens into dancing with him when the band switches out halfway through.  
  
"Is that even legal?" Keith whispers behind his hand while they watch.  
  
Shiro just shakes his head in amusement, looping an arm around his waist. "I don't know, but I admire the man." Keith smacks his shoulder and they both stifle a fit of chuckles.  
  
They're interviewed several times throughout the night, speaking rather uncomfortably into a camera each time before politely excusing themselves from the reporters. It's to be expected, and Shiro doesn't mind humoring them while the festivities rage on- but he takes into account Keith's stiffness with the attention. It's a process, easing him through the whirlwind of media and questions and pushing back some of the after-effects of their stressful month. 

They dance a few times, enthusiastically when the music is loud and much too close when it's just a quiet hum vibrating through Keith's throat. Shiro feels it through his suit, running along his shoulder into his chest, and it's a settled feeling, one that sinks through his veins like honey.  
  
"We should've done this at the Garrison," Keith murmurs, wistful again.  
  
"I'll make it up to you," Shiro whispers into his hair.  
  
He can feel Keith's smile against his shoulder. "You already have."  
  
  
  
  
By the time the party is officially over, next to no one has left, and the band continues playing well after the Queens deign to leave the ballroom. Hunk has cried twice; once at the state of the banquet table -perfect for once before being raided by children- and again at seeing Keith and Shiro off for the Garden Walk.  
  
They wait at the end of the hall near the courtyard, tired, ready to sleep and call conclusion to this entire affair- but it's just one more task. One more show of good faith.  
  
"So, how does this work?" Lance squints at the door while he paces. "Can anyone go in? Because if they can, then I'm proposing a romantic moonlit walk with a certain lovely Altean," He winks at Allura, the most suave action he's managed all night. She doesn't seem to notice.  
  
Coran twists his mustache. "I'm afraid I'll have to turn you down on this one, number three. Much as I would enjoy it, I'm rather exhausted after a night like _that."_  
  
Lance sputters incoherently, and Hunk stifles a burst of giggles. Pidge rolls her eyes, but she's grinning as she explains, "Actually, the garden is only open to the couple in question, Lance. It's a ceremony dating back to the earliest colony that made up Jerekov."  
  
He slumps against the wall, defeated, and sighs loudly. "Whatever, who wants to go dig up some magic flower anyway? It's like a treasure hunt, but with dirt. And bugs."  
  
"It's not magic," Pidge corrects. "Well, kind of. It's a symbol of the purest form of quintessence, so finding it will supposedly bless the relationship between the two seekers, and also shows the promise of devotion," She starts listing off, "-love, loyalty, sacrifice-"  
  
Matt claps a hand over her mouth. "Alright, that's enough. You're not allowed to nerd out after nine o'clock, Pigeon."  
  
"I'm not _twelve_ ," She huffs back, but quiets down anyway.  
  
The doors open shortly after. The others bid the two farewell as they disappear into the dense canopy.  
  
  
  
  
Shiro and Keith spend roughly an hour searching for the aforementioned flower, most of it in silence- less from tension than the general wind-down of the night- and by extension, the month. It isn't until they quite literally stumble upon the stark, white plant that they speak again.  
  
"Well," Shiro says, crouching beside it and smoothing some of the ground they'd trampled underfoot. "It's smaller than I imagined."  
  
"I think that's the understatement of the century," Keith grins, kneeling beside him.  
  
They both sit in quiet for a moment, resting their legs. Shiro closes his eyes and drinks in the night sounds, calm and sweeping in the background, breeze drifting over them in a steady stream to cool some of the day's heat away.  
  
"I do," Shiro says eventually.  
  
When he opens his eyes, Keith has him fixed with a quizzical look.  
  
"I like it here," He clarifies, smiling. "It reminds me of- home."

Keith doesn't respond for a long time. They breathe in the silence together, hands finding each other without reason or excuse- they're alone here. There's no one to act for.

"Hey Shiro-" Keith starts, and stops, swallowing like it's painful to say. "Do you- do you regret any of this? I know I kind of pushed us both into it, and then I got hurt, and you didn't want-"

Shiro takes a chance in leaning closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his cheekbone- he's no good with words, maybe because there aren't any to describe the overflow in his chest, so he draws it out and prays that Keith understands; prays and hopes that maybe- _maybe_ he's right about this.

"I don't regret anything when it's you," He murmurs.

Keith's eyes are round when he pulls back, pupils blown wide; there's a hint of a glimmer when he breaks into a tentative, relieved smile- and Shiro's never wanted anyone so badly.

"I-" He swallows and half reaches for Keith's face again. "I'm going to really kiss you now, if that's okay-"

He doesn't get to, in the end, because Keith does it first, laughing and nodding and wrapping his arms around Shiro's neck, slotting their mouths together firmly. He overshoots, and loses balance, but Shiro lands on soft dirt with Keith's legs around him, his hands in his hair- and decides he could be lying on beds of thorns for all he cared.  
  
He still wouldn't let go.

Not for the world.  
  
  



End file.
